


Fall Of The King

by coldphoenix



Series: Fall Of The King (One-shot trilogy) [1]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-24 11:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9724706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldphoenix/pseuds/coldphoenix
Summary: One-shot. King Piccolo suffers from severe dementia, and Piccolo Junior must care for him in the final moments of his life.





	

**Author's Note:**

> *Warning* This fic is focused on dementia, so please do not read if you feel it may affect/upset you.  
> This is the most depressing thing I’ve ever written. I’ve written some pretty sad stuff in my time, and I’ve written a few things that have made me cry while I’m writing them, but this… this is depressing. Maybe I shouldn’t post it on Valentine’s Day XD But honestly, I finished it today and I couldn’t wait! Sorry about that… I’m hoping it’s written well anyway. Please kudos/comment if you feel it deserves it. Thank you.

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock_. As always, Piccolo Junior was greeted by the rhythmic sound of his father’s clock as he entered King Piccolo’s room. The clock was a necessity; it gave King Piccolo something to focus on when he was alone in here. Without it, he would become incredibly stressed and confused, and in his defensive outbursts he would often harm himself, or at the very least destroy the home in which he resided with his only living son. Piccolo Junior checked the batteries of the clock every day, to make sure there was no chance that they could ever run out overnight. If the demon king awoke to a silent room, he would notice that the door was closed… and it would frighten him. He would respond violently to that as well. Aggression was a primal instinct of his, one that Piccolo Junior had come to discover as his father descended deeper and deeper into senility. Dementia. It had started around ten years ago, but had rapidly progressed over the last couple of years, and King Piccolo drew closer to the end of his life. His body was failing him, and now so was his brain. Junior was lucky if the demon king even knew where he was.

Piccolo Junior stepped further into his father’s bedroom, and settled his eyes upon the sleeping elder that lay in bed. Junior always woke him; he got up early himself just so that there was no chance his father would awake to find himself alone in a closed room. King Piccolo’s eyes weren’t what they used to be; if he awoke at night the clock alone was enough to distract him from the fact that the door was closed, but if King Piccolo ever awoke in daylight to a closed room… Well, he would go berserk. There was no other way, though. If Junior left the door open with his father unsupervised, there was no guarantee that King Piccolo wouldn’t find a way to leave the house, and if he left he would certainly never be able to find his way home. But if Junior remained in the room with him overnight, King Piccolo wouldn’t sleep. He would stare at Junior, trying desperately to recognise him or work out what he was and why he was here… eventually, he would become so agitated that he would react in the only way he knew how. Violently. He couldn’t even control his power anymore; Junior had to use his own ki to suppress King Piccolo’s, it was the only way to stop King Piccolo harming himself under his own strength. The demon king was forced to be weak. He was not trusted to leave the house. He was terrified of being in a closed room because it brought back memories of his youth, of when he was contained in that jar for all those years. His broken mind couldn’t tell the difference between memory and reality; King Piccolo didn’t react so violently to a closed room because he didn’t like to remember; he reacted so violently because he thought it was real. He thought he was trapped again, deep in the ocean, with nobody in the world to save him.  
“Father…” Junior spoke gently, lightly gripping King Piccolo’s shoulder. “Father. Time to get up.”

He watched as the demon king stirred, and his eyes began to focus… He blinked, and sat up in bed, staring at the room. Junior sighed a little. He could tell by the vacant expression on his father’s face that this wasn’t going to be one of his good days. King Piccolo didn’t recognise the room. He stopped recognising Junior long ago, but he sometimes recognised the room as somewhere he could be safe. Not today, though. Today he wouldn’t trust anything. Today he would be lost and confused, and he would fight whenever he could. “Father.” Junior spoke, trying to make eye contact with the demon king. King Piccolo looked at him, but only to follow the sound of Junior’s voice. He looked through Junior, not recognising him. Not even fully understanding that it was a person standing there. His eyes moved from Junior, and he looked upon the objects in the room with the same expression upon his face. Not knowing what they were. Vaguely wondering what they were supposed to do. “… Come on.” Junior pulled back the bed sheets, and put his arm around King Piccolo. “It’s breakfast time.” He urged King Piccolo to stand, and King Piccolo complied. He rose to his feet and headed for the door, unaware that Junior was holding onto him. Unaware that it was his son leading him out of the room.

It was a long walk to the breakfast table; King Piccolo stopped to stare at everything along the way. What should take seconds took minutes, constantly testing Junior’s patience. It was like this so often… especially recently. Getting King Piccolo from one room to the next took so long; getting him to eat or drink was so difficult… It was exhausting. “Here. Sit down, Father.” Junior pulled out a chair, and sat King Piccolo down at the table, taking a seat beside him. He moved his eyes to the breakfast he had prepared before waking his father; it was a bottle of water, with a straw. King Piccolo spilt his glass so often it was pointless serving his drink in one. The food was raw meat; it was the only thing King Piccolo wouldn’t spit out. Junior had mushed it up into a fine paste, like baby food. King Piccolo still had his teeth intact, but his dementia had made him forget how to use them. Sometimes he even forgot how to swallow. Junior couldn’t leave him to eat alone, not for a second, just in case he choked. It was no way to live… Junior thought that so often, every single day. What the hell had happened to the Demon King…? He wouldn’t want to spend his last days like this. A weak, broken thing, unable to speak or feed himself… staring vacantly at the walls, not knowing where he was or who he was. The Demon King Piccolo was always so proud. He was always so powerful, so sure of himself. This… this thing wasn’t him. It wasn’t what he would ever want to become. Junior knew that. He knew he should end his father’s mortal life, and free him from this pathetic, pitiful existence… but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. King Piccolo was the only one he had left… and Junior was selfish. “Come on.”

Junior held the spoon up to King Piccolo’s nose, allowing him to get the scent of raw meat. It was the best way to make him eat it. King Piccolo sniffed it cautiously, and slowly opened his mouth to lick at the source of the smell. He allowed Junior to spoon-feed him, and moved the soft meal around his mouth. Junior let out a sigh. He wasn’t swallowing. He did this sometimes. King Piccolo lapped at it, not really chewing. He played with it with his tongue, staring vacantly into space… Then with a full mouth, he moved towards the spoon again. “Not yet.” Junior spoke, pulling the spoon away. “Swallow that first.” 

King Piccolo let out a low growl, growing frustrated that he couldn’t locate his food. He moved his hand towards the bowl and Junior caught it, earning a vicious snarl from King Piccolo as the angered demon snatched his hand back. He spat out the food, forgetting what it was that he held in his mouth. Junior closed his eyes for a brief moment, and contained his frustration. Try again… Time to try again. He raised another spoonful of the mushed meat to King Piccolo’s face, and King Piccolo started over again. He sniffed it at first, and then cautiously lapped at the spoon… He swallowed this time, thank Kami. Junior hurriedly offered him anther spoonful, desperate to do this while King Piccolo remembered to swallow. 

After a few good attempts, King Piccolo started to turn his head away. He licked his lips fiercely, and started to sniff the air, as if searching for something. He was thirsty. Piccolo Junior took hold of his father’s water bottle, and raised the straw to the older Namek’s lips. King Piccolo slurped it, much to Junior’s relief. He could be difficult with straws. Junior always tried a straw first because it was less mess, but often he would have to hold an open cup to King Piccolo’s lips. King Piccolo didn’t recognise what straw were; he didn’t associate them with nourishment. Not always, anyway. 

Junior watched as King Piccolo drank, unaware of his surroundings. Unaware that somebody was providing him with this water. Unaware that his own child was sitting beside him. Unaware… that he was all that was left of everyone Junior had ever cared about or loved. It had been going on so long… Junior was so sick of this life. There was nobody left. He used to have friends, didn’t he? He used to have people to care about, and teach, and fight for… now who was there? They were all dead, after living long and happy lives. Human lives. Ones that ended a good few hundred years before Piccolo’s.

Goku was the first to go. Surprisingly, he’d been outlived by Chichi. She’d cared for him in his final days; her body was in such good condition for her age. But… the following year, she’d followed him into the afterlife. Everyone said she died of a broken heart. There was nothing wrong with her. Nothing. She was ninety-five, and at the age of ninety-four she’d been in such perfect health that everyone had expected her to meet a century. When Goku died, though… suddenly, everything was wrong with her. Her heart, her lungs, her blood… her body gave up on her at an alarming rate, and within a year she was gone. They said she’d given up; that when Goku died her will to live went with him. Maybe that was true. The same thing happened to her son. Piccolo cared for Gohan in his final days. He lost Videl to cancer; she was eighty-three. Gohan’s health went down after that. It was five years before he died himself, but his mind… he wasn’t the same. He was in mourning from the day Videl died to the day he joined her. He tried to smile, for the sake of Pan and his grandchildren, but everyone that knew him could see… he didn’t want to be alive. Piccolo Junior was starting to understand how he’d felt. He held on, for Gohan. Gohan had made him promise to take care of his family, and Piccolo did. Of course he did. It was Pan’s family now, though. Pan had died some years ago, but her children and grandchildren were still alive. Piccolo watched over them, just like he’d promised. It wasn’t the same, though. They didn’t know him like Gohan had. They didn’t treat him like family the way Pan had. They were polite to him. They invited him to big events. Weddings, major birthdays, Christmases… out of loyalty to Pan, they allowed Old Uncle Piccolo into their lives. They weren’t his family, though. With every generation that was born Piccolo grew more and more distant from the humans he’d once loved. He’d been fine with that, for a while. He’d had a family of his own. He’d had his brothers. It was amazing… Piccolo Junior had grown up without them. He hadn’t needed them or even paid them much thought, but once Gohan was gone they suddenly seemed important. They were the only family he had, after all. Until they left him as well. Apparently, that was the price they paid for being mutants. Their growth had been unnaturally accelerated to make them able to fight right away, but as a result their lifespans were significantly shorter than the average Namekian’s. Piano had died first, as expected. He was the weakest. Then Tambourine, then Cymbal, then Drum… Tambourine had suffered with dementia. He kept trying to fly away, and in mid-air he would forget how to fly and injure himself on the fall to the ground. Eventually, King Piccolo removed his wings, and Tambourine’s shattered mind couldn’t remember how to regenerate them. It pained Junior to watch, but he never thought he would have to see it again. He thought Tambourine’s dementia – in fact, the illnesses that had killed all of the mutants – were merely side-effects from being made the way they were. That wasn’t true, though. It wasn’t… King Piccolo was proof of that. 

It had started slowly. He would forget things… little things. Junior tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. He couldn’t deny it, though… that day. That day King Piccolo had looked him in the eyes and asked,  
_“Did you kill Goku yet?”_ Those words were so clear; the most vivid thing Junior had ever heard. Junior recalled King Piccolo’s tone. He recalled the way his face had looked when he’d spoken the words, and he recalled the way he himself had felt when he’d heard them… Horror. That was what it was. Horror, at the truth he could no longer deny. The great Demon King Piccolo was losing his mind.  
_“Goku’s dead.”_ Junior had answered, and the look on his father’s face had terrified him to the very core of his soul. He’d been so delighted. So proud. He thought Junior had killed Goku. He had no idea Goku that had been dead for over two hundred years. How the fuck was Junior supposed to deal with that? He’d reminded him, and within seconds King Piccolo had remembered who he was and what had happened in his life. He was angry. Embarrassed. But he was himself. It had been a relief… until it happened again. And again. And again. Until… this was it. This was all that was left of him. This old, pathetic, broken shell of a monster was all that was left of Piccolo Junior’s father. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the great Demon King Piccolo. This was… a vessel. One that Junior had kept alive, even though he knew it wasn’t what his father would have wanted. Junior clung to it out of desperation, caring for it and providing it with warmth and nourishment day after day in the hope that his father was still in there. In the hope that… he hadn’t lost everybody in the world that he had ever loved. 

_Scratch. Scratch_. “Oh…” Junior sighed, watching as King Piccolo started to scratch at his head. He did that sometimes. Junior’s brows furrowed at the sight of fresh scratches on King Piccolo’s fragile skin, some bloodied. He’d been scratching himself overnight. Dammit… “Don’t do that, Father.” Junior said. He took hold of King Piccolo’s hand, reluctantly. He knew his father wouldn’t like this. King Piccolo hated being restrained. 

King Piccolo growled, trying to pull his hand back as Junior held it still. “Just a moment.” Junior spoke. He dove his free hand into his pocket and pulled out a set of nail clippers; he always kept them to hand for moments like this. King Piccolo’s claws grew at such an alarming rate it was sometimes difficult to keep on top of them. Junior held his father’s hand still, and ignored the demon’s snarls of protest as he started to cut down his claws. “It’s alright.” Junior said, fighting to keep hold of King Piccolo’s hand. King Piccolo’s screams became more aggressive; his ki rose unevenly as he became more agitated at being trapped by someone he didn’t recognise. He hated being held still. “Just a second…” Junior mumbled. “… There.” Junior released King Piccolo’s hand, and King Piccolo snatched it back, letting out a loud snarl. He held his hand possessively, breathing heavily under his stress. He would need a moment to calm down. Junior sighed, and waited for King Piccolo’s breathing to return to normal. Okay… that should do it. He should have forgotten by now. Junior waited for a moment, for his father’s next move… Within seconds King Piccolo started sniffing at the remains of his breakfast, seeming to have forgotten about his recent capture. Okay. “The other one now, Father.” Piccolo Junior said. “I’m going to trim your other hand.”

He was greeted with a fierce snarl as he took possession of King Piccolo’s other hand, and the demon king battled much more fiercely than before. Hm. Maybe he remembered it. “It’s okay!” Junior insisted, fighting against King Piccolo’s struggling hand. “Hold still – **fuck**!” He cursed angrily, flinching as King Piccolo sank his teeth into Piccolo Junior’s wrist. Dammit, he wasn’t letting go! Junior hissed through the pain of King Piccolo’s grasp; he knew he had to get this done. He ignored King Piccolo’s fierce snarling; he ignored the feeling of King Piccolo sinking his teeth further into Junior’s flesh, and he finished clipping his claws down. “There!” Junior released King Piccolo’s hand, and King Piccolo pulled it away immediately, taking his razor-sharp teeth with it. He sat in his chair, snarling to himself and rubbing his hands. Junior watched him for a moment, cradling his injured wrist. After a while, King Piccolo calmed once more, and he started scratching at his head again, as if the last few minutes hadn’t even happened. This time though, he wasn’t harming himself. Junior had cut his claws down as much as he could; even King Piccolo’s aged, fragile skin couldn’t be damaged by them now. 

Junior stared at the demon king. For a long time. King Piccolo was just sitting there, softly scratching at his face. Out of boredom, or agitation… Junior didn’t know. He seemed to do it randomly; it wasn’t obviously linked to any particular time of day or mood. Perhaps it was just something to do. What else could he do? Nothing. He could barely eat. All he did was stare vacantly, into space. Wondering where he was. What he was. Who he was… 

… He wasn’t in there, was he? After all this time, Junior had to admit it. This… this wasn’t his father. Was it? Was it? Was it…? He…. He had to know. “Father?” Junior spoke, his voice cracking much more than he intended. Please… please… “Are you in there?” He looked desperately at the lost creature before him, silently begging it to respond. “King Piccolo?” Nothing. It was just staring. Scratching. Ignoring him. Junior swallowed, holding back his tears as best he could. “… Are you proud of me?” He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. Nothing. It wasn’t answering him. It wasn’t even looking. “Are you disappointed in me?” He opened his eyes, to look at the empty shell of the Demon King Piccolo. “I never did what you wanted. You can hate me, I’ll understand.” Piccolo whimpered, his eyes glistening as he stared pleadingly at the ghostly image of his father. Please… please. “Just please… tell me you do. Please…” He begged, and wiped his tears from his eyes. “Please tell me you’re still there.” 

The creature turned to look at Piccolo Junior, distracted by his voice. It stared right into his eyes, as if it were trying to figure out what he was. “Father.” Piccolo Junior spoke, his voice raising in his desperation. “It’s me. Junior. Piccolo Junior. You know me, don’t you?” He stared at it frantically, not daring to break the creature’s gaze. Begging for King Piccolo to respond. _“I’m your son.”_ He spoke the words telepathically, in one desperate attempt to draw his father out of that broken, senile cage. King Piccolo’s face twitched as the voice entered his mind. He stared at Junior intently, trying to recognise him… For a moment, it seemed like he knew that he was supposed to. For a moment, Junior’s hopes soared high, and he truly believed that if he stared long enough, King Piccolo would return… Then, the demon king’s face twisted in despair.

Piccolo Junior flinched, almost covering his ears as a loud, horrific sound came out of King Piccolo’s mouth, and the cold realisation of what he’d done hit home. Oh, Kami… what had he done to him? “It’s okay!” Piccolo Junior cried, amidst the fierce, terrified snarls that erupted from the Demon King. Dammit! The telepathy had been too much for him; it had confused him. He was severely agitated, terrified by the sudden invasion of his mind. His ki soared; he was screaming and snarling with a titanic force, his hands wildly swiping at the area around him. He knocked his food off the table, and became more distressed at the unidentified sound of the bowl shattering against the floor. “It’s okay!” Piccolo caught his father just as he was attempting to get up and run. “It’s okay! Ssh!” He held his father tightly against him, but the restraint only made King Piccolo worse. He fought harder, violently struggling and snarling fiercely, convinced that he was being attacked. “Ssh, ssh.” Piccolo Junior soothed, and scrunched his eyes shut. “Hmm hm-hm hmm hmm, hmm hm-hm hmm hmm…” He hummed softly, slowly rocking the demon king in an attempt to calm him. He found this worked sometimes. The song was something Junior used to sing to Pan when she was a baby. He had always assumed it was just something he’d made up; he didn’t recognise it from anywhere. But… sometimes, it calmed King Piccolo. Actually, the only time King Piccolo didn’t mind being restrained was when he heard this song. So… maybe there was more to it than Junior knew. Maybe it was a memory, or… … Piccolo Junior didn’t know. He wouldn’t know. It didn’t matter now. “Hmm hm-hm hmm hmm…” Junior sniffed, and blinked back his tears. Slowly, King Piccolo was starting to calm down. The creature’s vicious snarls were softening; his breathing was becoming more even. Good… “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Junior whispered, his claws lightly grazing against King Piccolo’s head. “I’ve been… very selfish.” He uttered. “I’ve kept you like this, Father. You were locked away for so many years. I knew you didn’t like it, and I’ve done it to you again.” He swallowed, and exhaled sharply as more tears escaped his eyes. “It was wrong of me. It was wrong… and I’m sorry. I’m going to fix it. It’ll just take a moment…” He trailed his hand up to place his palm against King Piccolo’s head, above his brain. All the while, maintaining his gentle rocking as he held the frightened creature in his arms. “It’ll just hurt for a second.” Junior whispered. “And then you’ll be free. You’ll be free, King Piccolo.” He sniffed, and bit his lip, tightening his grip on King Piccolo as he tried to move away. “Hmm hm-hm hmm hmm… Hmm hm-hm hmm hmm…”

_Thud_. The supressed sound of a ki shot echoed off King Piccolo’s skull as Junior sent a small, quick blast into his brain, killing him instantly. The body fell limp in Junior’s arms, completely unmarked by the shot except for a hole in its skull. His face was intact. He looked like he was sleeping. He always slept with his eyes open anyway. For a few seconds, Piccolo Junior didn’t move. Then he wrapped his arms around his father, squeezing him tightly as he softly sobbed against his skull. “Ssh, ssh…” He sniffed, his eyelashes feebly batting away his tears. He was alone. All alone.


End file.
